


Twenty-Five Years

by Measured_Words



Category: DUANE Diane - Works, Star Trek, Star Trek (2009), Star Trek (Comics), Star Trek (Rihannsu)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Prison, Romulans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-12-03
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:18:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to the crew of the Narada between the attack on the Kelvin and the attack on the Klingons previous to the capture of Spock Prime?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series I started writing to explore what happened to Nero, Ayel, and the Narada crew during the twenty-five years between the destruction of the USS Kelvin and the attack on the Klingon prison planet. Where were the crew? What happened to the ship? How did Nero manage to maintain both their loyalty and his simmering hate for Spock for so long? See notes at the end for more notes on resources and such.
> 
> Thanks to Earis, who has done the bulk of the Beta work, unless otherwise noted!
> 
> Restarted after an overlong hiatus :)

“Status.”

Ayel was conscious of a sharp pain running up the right side of his chest from where he’d been thrown forward into Narada’s tactical console, and a numbness in the corresponding arm. He tried to make a fist, saw stars, and tapped at the computer with his left.

“Heavy damage to the lower decks,” he hissed. “Main power offline, all engines non-operational. No power to weapons. Shields are down. We’re drifting.”

He turned. Nero was just slumping back down into his own chair, teral’n still clutched tightly. He wiped idly at a gash above his eyes, green blood smearing against the sleeve of his black coat. “The shuttles.”

“Escaping towards Federation space.”

There was a pause. Ayel imagined he could feel the frustrated seething emanating from his captain, but he may have been projecting – he felt it himself.

“Let the dogs run, then. Their time will come.”

Another pause – this time Ayel’s own. _When?_ He wondered, but didn’t yet dare voice the question. One hundred and fifty four years in the past, and what now? Nero either missed his hesitation, or chose to ignore it.

“Get me the injury reports. Can we cloak?”

“No, sir. Reports coming in from the other decks now.”

“See that the injured are tended to, and send me the names of the fallen. How long until we have warp?”

Ayel nodded, staring blankly at his console for a moment before blinking the characters back in to focus. He steadied himself – hunching forward made breathing painful, and he needed to concentrate. “Main power coming back online now.” The lights brightened as he spoke, words echoed with a dull whine. “Ship’s auto-repair systems engaged. Prioritizing hull integrity and wa-“ A sudden wave of bright black dizziness surged through him, and he fought the urge to sit, or collapse completely, bracing himself against the panel with his left arm, knuckles white. The right didn’t seem to want to listen, but instead of numbness, now there was white hot fire.

“Ayel?”

 _Warp capacity_ , his mind supplied, but he felt like he was choking, and couldn’t force out the words. T’Lalea finished the report for him, taking over not in any manoeuvre to usurp his position or esteem with the captain, but because time was short, and Nero needed the answers. He nodded brusquely at her as she rattled off the estimates. Ayel was trying to will his lungs and arm to function, and only half listening. Nero’s voice cut in over his officer’s, ordering a medic to the bridge.

More orders were given – for repairs, for attention to be paid to the sensor array in case of new presences in the area, to monitor local transmissions. A medic ( _H’Man_ , Ayel recalled) showed up, patched the gash on Nero’s forehead, patched his own injuries as best he could – a number of broken ribs and related internal injuries, torn ligaments, and dislocated shoulder among other minor things – gave him a painkiller and a stimulant to keep going. They removed the bodies of the dead, including the Starfleet captain, from the command center. The truth was that they weren’t going anywhere for some time.

The captain turned to him, once the bridge was clear. “The calculations?”

Ayel pulled up the program that he’d left running in the background since shortly after Nero killed Robau, after the man had confirmed their situation. He glared at the numbers, suppressing the urge slam a fist into the contrary numbers. “Computer projects that Spock’s ship-“ he spit as he spoke the name, “-won’t arrive here for another twenty five years!”

“Twenty five years.” A pause. “Be precise, Ayel.”

He rattled off the data, to the estimated hour, derived from the strength of the singularity’s gravity well, readings taken of the Vulcan’s ship (especially density and mass), their own course through space-time, and as many other variables as he could think to account for. “I’ve run the scenario three times, it’s all the same. The margin of error is only a few hours.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see Nero staring ahead, thinking. Earth and Fire: which would win? The captain pressed a button on his command console, and spoke fairly calmly over the ship’s intercom. “Thrai to central command.”

Ayel shared a glance with T’Lalea. Thrai was the third of Nero’s officers. Before, when the Narada had been a simple deep-space mining vessel, Thrai had been in charge of overseeing the work crews. T’Lalea was essentially security, in charge of the ship’s defenses against raiders and pirates, and the safety of the crew generally, including from each other. Ayel’s job as first officer covered a range of duties, but he was the one responsible for asking the hard questions. Crew and captain both trusted him; he represented the one to the other and was charged with balancing the honour of both. He didn’t have much time to dwell on what Nero wanted with the three of them now before a voice responded.

“Sir, this is Taul in medical. Thrai is dead.”

Hard news. Nero punched the console, closing the link violently. He smouldered for a moment, regarded the two of them both in turn, then addressed them by their fourth names.

Nero had _nuhuinen_ , look-toward, what the humans might define as charisma. People followed him, and trusted him easily. But his friendships with his subordinates ran deeper. The captain would not have it otherwise, Ayel knew, and nor would he. Nero had always been considerate of their lives and their honour, as though they were kin. _Mnei-sahe_. The loss of ch’Rihan had changed a great many things. They all felt it keenly, and it drove their captain to extremes. But this had not changed. Mnei-sahe had not changed. Its demands, however, and their future…

Ayel listened.


	2. Capture and Oath

“I speak for Captain Nero.” Ayel spoke with more confidence than he felt – this was different than dealing with the _Kelvin_ , when _Narada_ had been at full strength, and the most powerful warship in the 24th century, let alone the 22nd. But the crew didn’t have the expertise required to put her back together quickly enough given their current resources and situation, even if half hadn’t been injured in the collision. The ship’s nanite-based auto-repair system was fairly efficient, but there was a lot of damage. “Our vessel has been damaged in battle with Federation forces, and we request assistance under the terms of the –” he glanced down at the console, verifying the information that T’Lalea had dug up out of Elements knew where. “-non -aggression treaty of 2227.”

“Of course, sub-commander Ayel.” The Klingon officer grinned, showing his teeth like a thrai. “We are pleased to honour our commitment to the Romulan Star Empire. You are, however, very far from home, and I see that your warp engines have been disabled. I hope you will accept some Klingon hospitality, and allow my little fleet to escort you to an outpost where you might find the facilities you need to conduct proper repairs.”

Ayel glanced back at Nero, hiding his disgust from the oily humanoid dominating their view screen. He didn’t even look like a proper Klingon, but was small framed and flat-headed. Apparently, that was in the history T’Lalea had unearthed as well. Nero nodded once. Though he masked it well enough for their audience, Ayel could read his captain’s own revulsion in his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes plainly enough. He didn’t dare glance at their security officer – he could imagine her venom easily enough.

“Certainly, Captain Krysh. We have injured aboard as well. Perhaps your fleet might provide medical supplies or facilities to assist us in caring for them?”

“Yes, sub-commander. If you would care to beam them to the coordinates I will provide, they will be well taken care of, I assure you.” That hungry smile again. “I must say, you are looking somewhat the worse for wear yourself.”

 _Weak, we look weak, damn him!_ Ayel fought back a scowl with marginal success. Turning his back fully on the viewscreen, he this time make no attempt to hide his feelings as he looked to Nero, who merely inclined his head in acquiescence or sympathy, depending on perspective.

“Thank you, Captain. My own injuries are of no concern.” H’man had taped his ribs, set his arm in a sling, and given him another shot. T’Lalea was one of the few who had come out of the encounter with the _Kelvin_ unharmed – an advantage of knowing how to fall, she claimed – but she had insisted that Ayel’s new responsibilities should begin now, regardless of his condition. She wasn’t wrong, but he’d have given a lot for the chance to lie down for a few hours. “I’ll forward the information to our chief medical officer.” H’Man was really their only official medical officer, but there were a few other field medics to assist him. Still, the situation seemed farcical.

“Very well. Meanwhile, I will send my chief engineer over to your vessel to coordinate a… towing effort.”

Ayel smiled. It was gratifying to know that _Narada_ , beaten down as she was, still gave the Klingons some pause. The game they were playing now allowed the Rihannsu a modicum of control. The Klingons would let them keep up that pretense, confident that once it was dropped, the ship and her secrets would be theirs to exploit. “We shall be pleased to meet him. _Narada_ out.”

He cut the channel, and breathed out slowly. T’Lalea spat.

“I feel violated.”

“You didn’t have to speak to them.”

“And you can be sure that’s for the best. Are you certain that drama isn’t one of the subjects sons of noble houses are made to study?”

“I wouldn’t know.” It was an old joke between them now, and Ayel just shook his head. “And stop spitting on the deck. If you spit every time we see a Klingon, we’ll drown before we even get underway.”

“If you can even call them Klingons,” she started. Nero came up behind the two, clapping them both on the shoulder before making a pointed motion toward the lift. He let Ayel lead the party to the transporter room, and herald his arrival there.

\-----------------------------------

Managing the Klingons onboard required careful observation, and Ayel was certain that Chief Engineer Gonret still managed to see more than was either necessary or desirable. It ultimately wouldn’t matter, he told himself, as they likely lacked the ability to replicate the technology. This was only one among numerous aggravations. The initial towing arrangement had been hastily contrived, no doubt out of fear that the Rihannsu might have reinforcements coming. The resulting damage had mostly been to the five cruisers (due to inferior design and craftsmanship no doubt) attempting to manoeuvre the much larger vessel. They’d stopped once they’d made it further into Klingon territory and were met by a few other larger vessels. They’d made some adjustments to their tractor beams and warp-field generators.

The convoy was still progressing much more slowly, and had also diverted course to a smaller, but closer, Klingon facility. The longer the procession held together, the less courteous their hosts. Ayel could have listed several reasons for this, many of which originated in the many subspace messages, primarily Klingon and Federation, that _Narada_ ’s superior sensor array was able to intercept and decode despite various jamming attempts. A major contributing factor, however, was Nero’s continuing reticence. Even in person, Ayel continued to act as his voice, and Krysh found this especially insulting. Well, they would just have to accept the captain’s silence, along with everyone else.

They were now approaching the Klingon outpost at Narenda III, and the whole ship felt tense. Krysh’s narrow-eyes visage flickered to life on the viewscreen.

“Sub-commander Ayel. I regret to inform you that I have just been informed that the Romulan fleet disavows all knowledge of your ship, the honourless dog you call a captain, and yourself. How very unfortunate that we will no longer be able to offer the promised hospitality. Instead, it is my pleasure to seize your ship as a pirate, operating inside of our space, and place her crew under arrest.”

And now, the moment of truth. Nero’s final address to the ship echoed in his mind, and Ayel took strength from the words.

“My friends. I promised you that I would bring you vengeance for our home and lost loved-ones. But circumstances conspire to thwart us, and now – we must wait. It will be long, and difficult, but _mnhei-sahe_ demands it. There are factors here beyond our control, but not beyond our perseverance. In twenty-five years – yes so long! – we will have our chance at the one who has caused us so much pain. I ask you to measure a mere handful of empty years against that incalculable hurt! The elements are with us. We are miners. Like the earth, we will be strong and patient. When we strike, it will be as a blade of the finest steel tempered in the fire of our great wrath. Like a S’harien of legend, we will cut with the sharpest strike at our enemies, and destroy them utterly.

“Trust in me. So that you cannot doubt my commitment, I swear, I will speak no more until the day of our revenge. For all of us, for all lost on ch’Rihan, and ch’Havran, and all the worlds of the Empire touched by this treacherous tragedy. Remember, my friends. _Mnhei-sahe_.”


	3. Interrogations

The crew had all been removed quickly to holding facilities on the station. Armed guards dominated Narada’s command center, weapons drawn and currently pointed at the three remaining Rihannsu. Most attention was being paid to Nero, who stood facing the Klingon intruders, the Debrune teral’n in hand, its blades unsheathed. T’Lalea’s green eyes flashed fiercely, poised to react quickly should she feel any shift in the situation.  


 _Woe be to the Klingons if it should._ Little attention was being paid to Ayel. Typical.

Nero surprised the Klingons by, instead of lunging at them, he turned his back and carefully lay the ancient weapon across the command chair. That done, he nodded once at Ayel, who in turn nodded to the lieutenant charged with removing them from the ship. They were led off the bridge, one final trek through _Narada_ to her transporter bay. Only T’Lalea spared a look back towards the teral’n.

Krysk met them at the station’s platform, still glorying in his prize though he was no longer the officer in charge. The thrai in him was showing again, and he chortled a gloating laugh as he ordered the three of them seized, “the pirate dog Nero” with special violence. It was T’Lalea who actually fought, showing her fire. Ayel put up a token resistance as he was manhandled away, more resigned to his fate. Nero continued to show his earth – immovable, indomitable. For now, at least, he would not cry out at any of their blows, and gave them nothing but a defiant smirk for their efforts. They took him away separately.

The cramped cell to which he and T’Lalea were taken already had two occupants. One was H’Man, recognizable by the sunburst pattern that splayed up from the base of his neck over his skull. He was hunched over the other, who was lying on one of the low metal benches protruding from the walls. The medic looked up as the other two were helped inside with a rough shove.

“Where’s the captain? Are you alright?”

“We’re fine.” T’Lalea wiped a smear of green from her bloody nose. “They took Captain Nero away. Who’s that?”

Ayel was already crouched over the still form of _Narada_ ’s engineer. “Paren. How is she?” Her face was mottled in ugly bruises, most of which were turning a sallow bronze colour.

“Sleeping.”

He pulled back.

“They broke her nose, and some other parts, but it’s mostly superficial. Still – she was fine when she came off the ship.”

“Animals,” T’Lalea hissed quietly, and winced slightly when H’man came over to check her cuts and bruises, informing her that against the odds, she’d managed to crack a knuckle.

“Now what?” the medic asked.

Ayel sat himself down, pulling his knees close so that the others could do the same. "We wait. It shouldn’t be too long.”

It wasn’t long at all before an explosion rattled the entire station.

“ _Narada!_ ” Paren slurred as she bolted upright in the aftershock, then groaned slightly.

“She’s off now,” Ayel said gently as H’Man resumed his fussing. “Elements will that the subroutines all work, and she doesn’t run out of power before we need her back.”

“They’re well composed, Ayel.” She was still slurring, and he realized it wasn’t just from being suddenly awoken. She sat up more carefully, waving the medic away, and grinned at him. One of her front teeth was missing. It was disconcerting – she’d been considered the ship’s beauty, with sharp features that caught and held the eye even after she’d shaved all her hair. Paren was one of the few who’d incorporated actual words into her mourning tattoos, inscribing the names of the generation ships that had carried their people to ch’Rihan and ch’Havran millennia ago into the spindly arms of _Narada_ that spilled from the back of her head over her forehead and across her cheeks. “You did well, and she trusts you. It will be fine.” She meant the ship, he realized, and marked it down to further Ship Clan eccentricities. “Where’s Nero?”

“That’s enough,” T’Lalea interrupted, watching out the forcefield into the hall – they could all hear the ring of heavy boots approaching.

“I didn’t give them anything.”

Ayel nodded at the engineer as he rose to his feet, and hoped that earth was with him today as well as the guards beckoned him forward.

They passed several other cells, most packed more tightly with crewmen than the one he’d left behind, though some were smaller. He kept his head eye and his eyes defiant – he owed them at least as much. Seeing them so treated raised honest outrage in his heart. These were his people – all he had left of them. Every face had a name, and he listed them as he passed.

The final name Ayel listed was Nero’s, as his captors marched him further in to the holding cells. The captain was alone, stripped, lying on his side with his back to the force shield. He had visible bruises marring his tattoos, and open wounds leaking green blood. He was breathing. Ayel had time to notice this, as the guards briefly slowed their procession of misery. _Did they think this would break me?_ The image of Paren, with her damaged face, came to mind as well. By the time they brought him to the quiet little room where Krysk waited with his evil smile and his instruments, Ayel knew it was fire, not earth, that would see him through his ordeal.

\------------------------------------------------

 _“Where is the_ Narada _?”_

The words still echoed through his head hours later, resonating with throbbing aches. But Ayel didn’t know, so he laughed until he recognized H’Man hunching over him again.

“Sir!” he repeated. “They’re taking us somewhere.”

Moving, he found as he sat up, brought everything into sharp focus very quickly. The medic was much too short to support his weight easily. T’Lalea kept the guards at bay, carving out a space of respect. The little group of officers was paraded past the crew again, as all were loaded in to a transport. Ayel did another head count, but this time there was no Nero. It was a short trip, and at the end, they were outfitted with ratty, foul-smelling furs before being divided into smaller groups and ushered ungently into shuttles that flew them down to the icy hell of Rura Penthe.


	4. Refugees

It had always been a gamble, and Ayel had been quick to point it out.

“What’s going to stop them from just killing you?” He’d asked as soon as Nero had explained the plan, well before the Klingon cruiser had ever appeared on Narada’s damaged sensors.

“Greed.”

He trusted Nero’s assessment, and T’Lalea had backed him up. His conviction, however, couldn’t quite quell his current apprehension. The seventy some remaining crew members were into the second hour of their forced march across the frozen face of Rura Pente, penetrating further into the natural magnetic shielding that prevented transporter use and, therefore, escape. They were accompanied by a fair number of armed guards who seemed to take excessive delight in hounding their shackled charges when they stumbled on the treacherous ice, or spoke too loudly amongst themselves, or any number of other invented infractions. The mutterings that Ayel could hear were all in a similar vein – “Where are we going?” “What’s happening?” “Where’s captain Nero?”

Ayel had last seen him shortly after the subroutines they’d implanted in _Narada_ ’s systems had engaged, triggered once there were no more Rihannsu life signs aboard, and activating her most fatal intruder defenses. He’d been lying on the floor of a cell where their captors had left him after their unsuccessful attempt to force information from him. Other programs were set to engage the cloaking device and various other defensive technologies, along with the travel algorithm that, if it worked properly, would move the ship to random destinations over the next two and a half decades. It was another risk, but better than handing the ship over to the Klingons.

 _Is it better that they don’t know the details?_ Without Nero, the path ahead was going to be more difficult. Ayel might have the same information, more or less, but he lacked the presence. It didn’t help that he still felt like he’d been run through _Narada_ ’s ore processor, and was freezing to boot. _Water showing us its cruellest face._ He didn’t cut a particularly impressive figure at the moment, but made an effort to at least stand up straight.

Ayel shivered again, dismissing his negative thoughts. The pace seemed to be slowing, and there was a dim light visible through the haze of drifting snow. Half an hour later, the prisoner columns were clustered around an entrance rising out of the ice-crusted surface of an otherwise featureless white plain. The warden was at least sized like a proper Klingon, though not as tall as Ayel. Both he and the local guards had animals on leashes – angry things that seemed all long pointed teeth and growls. Looking down on them from the raised entry platform, the warden addressed the group through some kind of vocal amplifier, tone rich with scorn and evil glee.

“Welcome to the dilithium mining penal colony of Rura Penthe. I trust you have had an unpleasant trek. We like to introduce our guests this way so that they properly understand what is waiting for them should they foolishly venture out of the facility. That said, we post no guards here, as there is simply nowhere to go. You are now all miners, whatever you may have been before doesn’t concern me. If you work well, you will do well. If not… I will let you imagine the consequences for yourself. Men will start work at 0600h. It is now 02h48. You have four hours to settle in. I’d say ‘and make new friends’, but no one here likes to have their sleep disturbed, so I find that unlikely.” With that he laughed, and with a wave of his hand, they were pressed forward again, past a gauntlet of snapping teeth and glowering Klingons.

 _Narada_ crew packed the first antechamber – a natural cavern enlarged considerably by laser carving, if Ayel was any judge. The guards inside were also armed, and all wearing helmets which at least simulated the head ridges he was accustomed to seeing on Klingons. They were clustered into key areas, likely guarding equipment or processed dilithium. Despite the warden’s speech, a number of other prisoners were awake. Some were of races Ayel had only heard of, from the far edges of the Klingon Empire. They gave the Rihannsu a wary once-over before most disappeared. It was practically a given that there weren’t any other groups as large or as coherent as the crew, and Ayel wished he could didn’t have to think about what all that implied until after he’d caught that four hours of rest. Instead, he made note of all their faces.

No one, not even the guards, seemed inclined to give them any further guidance. The murmuring around him was increasing. People were looking for direction, and answers that were too long delayed. _Direction, at least, I can give._ Ayel turned to T’Lalea.

“Take a few others, and make a place for us.” He spoke loud enough for those around to overhear easily. She bowed her head in acknowledgement of the order – a public gesture to support his own, then turned to the crowd. He watched her tag four others, solid men from the drill crews, then turned to H’man.

“Find Taul and Maru – make sure everyone is alright. When T’Lalea gets back, have her send someone with you and see if you can find any supplies. Take anything you can use.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir,” another voice put in. Ayel turned to face the inevitable. “What’s going on? Are we really just... Letting this happen? What’s happened to captain Nero?”

 _Nero,_ he told himself again, _will be alright._ The Elements were with them all. Though they might be all the Rihannsu had these days, the ice outside was a reminder that they could be cold comfort at times. Ayel raised his eyebrows at the questioner, another solid miner named Vanor. He was older than many of the others, and had been friends, kin perhaps, with Thrai. Married, children grown, and probably all dead unless by some stroke of Elemental mercy they had been posted away with the fleet. _Had they been enlisted?_ He couldn’t remember. Ayel held his pose until Vanor looked away. “Be patient just a little longer, friend.” Again, he let his words carry beyond his immediately audience. “And you’ll have what answers I can give.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The barracks they’d secured reminded Ayel of the training camp he’d been posted to at the beginning of his compulsory four year enlistment in the Imperial Space Fleet. Decades ago now. Then at least, the recruits had been allowed some personal possessions. Here, they had nothing. Prisoners, technically, but in his mind they were refugees. Now they sat on the edge of their bunks, looking to him for answers. The burden of _mnhei’sahe_ for the crew would break him alone. And for all that they had lost, as well… Nero was mad, certainly, to have accepted that responsibility, no matter what he said. He wasn’t wrong, but he was mad, and as Ayel opened his mouth to address the other Rihannsu, he cleaved to the thought that their captain would be with them all again soon.


	5. The Mines

Routine, Ayel hoped, even one enforced by outsiders, might be beneficial for the crew. On two hours sleep and still battered from his interrogation, however, it was difficult to cling to any kind of optimism. He touched the cold cavern wall, drawing on the strength and stability of Earth. Routine. This place was a mine and he was – had been in an increasingly distant life – a miner. Guards were yelling, waving old-fashioned disruptors in the faces of those slow to roll out of their bunks. _Good morning_. This was day one of their survivor’s penance.

He’d spoken briefly to Vanor after his general address the night before, wishing selfishly that Thrai was still with them. This would be a day for assessments, feeling out their situation further. They had already made some enemies the night before, among the prisoners T’Lalea’s gang had evicted to claim the Rihannsu living space. The guards, at least, hadn’t seemed to care.

After a perfunctory first meal of pasty grey gruel, the crew let themselves be herded towards some lifts. When Ayel heard a commotion ahead, he slipped forward through a parting throng of Rihannsu. T’Lalea fell in to step beside him.

“That’s absurd.” The voice belonged to Aifn, one of the handful of women on the ship, and of the even fewer who worked on the drill crews. She was flanked by two others – Paren and another woman from the crews, Rihain, tall and strongly built. “Do you mean to imply that we are too delicate for such work?”

“The warden says,” the Klingon adjusted his grip on his weapon, not quite threatening the women with it, “No females in the mines.”

“But why?” Aifn was part angry, part incredulous. _Are all the guards here male?_ Ayel glanced over at T’Lalea. She was watching the confrontation with narrowed eyes, but nodded when she caught his look. Another guard continued to usher others into the lift. The first gave an arrogant sneer.

“You’ll have to stay and ask him.”

A sneer, or a leer? It was hard to tell with Klingons, but either way it was unpleasant.

Ayel clapped a hand on Aifn’s shoulder. “Later,” he told he quietly in Rihannsu, wondering if the Klingon translators could handle their language. _We’ll have to find out._ T’Lalea had already slipped off back through the crowd.

“Yes sir.” She kept her gaze locked with the guard, and Ayel nodded evenly at him.

“Carry on, then.”

The Klingon’s expression soured. “Don’t give orders to me, Romulan scum! Get on the lift.”

Ayel smiled down at guard, narrowing his eyes. The women laughed as he stepped past. He was sore and exhausted, but at least he still had some kind of control. Earth.

Down below, another guard met the small group coming off the lift with shouted orders. Antiquated lasers were shoved in their hands, and the ten of them were escorted deeper in to the mine. The caverns were riddled with dark black bands of gneiss, which, on planetoids exposed to the right conditions, contained pockets, sometimes sheets, of crystal dilithium. They pressed past another detail of prisoners, a random assortment of aliens who fell into a guarded silence as the Rihannsu passed. The scaring patterns on the walls showed that they knew at least to follow the natural rock bands in their laser carving, but he didn’t have an opportunity for further observations before they were moved along.

Eventually they reached a dead end in the cave. Someone had worked here before, but Ayel couldn’t imagine they’d produced much – the banding looked too solid and regular to suggest any intrusive deposits. The group was ordered tersely to get to work, and the guard moved off a ways to keep his watch. Vanor shook his head.

“May as well give us pickaxes.” He continued in response to Ayel’s shrug. “Can you imagine if we’d ever found a rock like this? Strip it in six months, maybe eight. We’d have been richer than half the senate.”

“And we’d be just as dead.”

“Ie.” Vanor looked down at his laser. “So we would.”

The day passed quietly, the guard coming over only occasionally to growl aggressively and make token threats about working faster. They were brought another meal at some point during the day, but it was difficult the gauge the passage of time. It was more of the same grey paste – salty, gelatinous, and entirely unpleasant. This time there were some hard starchy discs, and water as well. They ate little. Ayel and Vanor took a little stroll around their section of the cave while their guard enjoyed his own meal. There wasn’t much to see, though they guessed that there were some rich dilithium deposits in pretty much every section save where they’d been put. The place didn’t need to be efficient, presumably, and probably didn’t care to.

One notable landmark stood out in their short walkabout: a mass of scorched and melted rock where some unfortunates had detonated some unstable dilithium with careless laser use. _That must be why the guards keep so far back._ That could be useful information, and he filed it away for future reference.

They were herded back up to the higher caverns at the end of the day. T’Lalea was waiting, and Ayel sent Vanor to check with some of the others and compare experiences and observations. He fell in to step with the security chief, who seemed better rested if no more relaxed. She led him through the compound on a tour that became more perfunctory when she realized he wasn’t in a frame of mind to capture the nuances.

“Later then,” she insisted, “You’ll need to know this.”

 _Nero will need to know this._ He nodded – it amounted to the same. “Have you found anywhere good for private conversation?”

“Yes, as long as you can accept that half the prison will think we’re lovers.”

He shook his head. “Nothing new there.”

T’Lalea smirked, leading him back close to the guard barracks. They passed some other inmates, some of whom Ayel was beginning to recognize. No one stopped them as they slipped in to a side alcove, but they certainly took note. As soon as they were out of sight, Ayel sagged, running a hand up over his face and back across his skull to rub the back of his neck. Stubble was starting to grow back in through the fresh scars of his mourning tattoos – just one more mentally draining aggravation.

“Are you alright?”

“Are you?”

“I slept some today. And I didn’t spend ten hours on my feet, working like a slave.” T’Lalea crouched down against the far wall, and he settled down beside her. It did feel good to sit.

“It’s just work.”

“As far as I can find out, there are hundreds of reasons this place is called the aliens' graveyard, and half of them are related to the dangers of dilithium mining in these conditions. Even if nothing explodes on you, long-term exposure will cause radiation sickness.”

“I know.” He did – he didn’t want to talk about it right now. “I’m just tired. How was your day?”

She pursed her lips, furrowing her brow. “I’m not sure I can keep us all safe.”

“Explain.”

“Another time. It’s just what I’ve been thinking.”

“You don’t have to work alone. Take whoever you need. Security is essential, especially now.”

She gave him a sly look. “I thought you were too tired to worry about these things?”

“I don’t really have the luxury.”

“Let me worry about it. You don’t have to do this all alone either.”

“Don’t I? The crew needs one leader. One.”

“They want Nero. You can’t be him.”

He hadn’t been trying, not consciously, but was that what they saw? What did that say about his own authority? “Well.”

“Well indeed. So, let me play at being you for a moment now. Do you know why Nero listens to you?”

Ayel turned his head to look at her. He could think of several answers. _I wonder what she’s fixed on?_

She shook her head after a moment. “Never mind. Instead, tell me, have you let yourself think about how we came to be here? To really turn everything over in your head?”

Had he? It was never really out of mind. Vanor’s comment earlier had been like poking at an open wound. It haunted and festered: the loss of the hearthworlds, people, places, culture. It was too big to grasp, and so was their role, their thwarted mission of salvation. Had he really been so glib? ‘Risking everything on a remote chance we save the Empire?’ he’d told Nero at the time, ‘Of course I’m in.’ They were right, they couldn’t fail: but it had all been too much Air. But they had been stopped, and then came revenge – also thwarted. The thoughts leaked in, but he hadn’t explored them. Ayel shook his head.

“You should,” she continued. “Even just to hold his place here, you’re going to need that Fire. Otherwise, this place will freeze you cold.”


	6. Connections

Five days in, things seemed to be carrying along as smoothly as could be expected. T’Lalea had taken over most of the interactions with other groups of prisoners, networking through the female inmates to learn what she could about anyone who might give them trouble or be of use. There were some that Ayel’d had to meet, and some boundaries he’d needed to establish. It was insulting, Ayel knew, that the Rihannsu women couldn’t establish for themselves that they were off-limits. They didn’t have the numbers on their own, especially not during the workdays. A number of fights had resolved the matter, at least among the inmates. The guards, however, might still be a problem. It made him angry, even though nothing had yet happened. T’Lalea was capable of handling the situation, more so than him, and as security chief it was her duty. The Fire remained, however, and he knew he wasn’t alone.

Some of the connections she’d made seemed like they could be notably beneficial. One of these was a woman called Saleema, an alien with light grey skin with a series of raised crests above flat eyebrows, from some star system he’d never heard of. She’d managed to attach herself not to an inmate or any of the guards, but to the Klingon geophysicist assigned to oversee the penal colony’s mining operations. The official story was that she’d been sent here for murder, but there were rumours that she’d been a spy. Apparently, she wanted, or was willing, to talk to the 'Chief of the Romulans'. _I’ll have to do._

Ayel walked out of the barracks cavern they’d claimed their first night, and glanced above the door. Rihannsu territory was marked now, not with the bird of prey emblem of the Empire, but by a stylized narada. The creature of myth – winged and serpentine, many-mouthed and ravenous – was said to haunt the deep and unexplored recesses of space. It had seemed an apt name for a mining vessel, and it suited equally the silent lurking danger they’d sent the ship to be. He hadn’t witnessed the emblem’s creation, but suspected it had been done by Taul. The dark-skinned medic’s steady hand and artistic eye were visible in the mourning tattoos of most of the crew. That didn’t mean it had been his idea. That was Paren. She’d been telling stories in the evenings to those who weren’t too tired to listen. They were old histories, mostly, of the Departure, when the Declared had left Vulcan behind to follow S’Task rather than Surak. He hoped for a chance to listen to her later, partly from curiosity and partly to judge whether this was an activity he should allow to become ritual. Another evening – perhaps tomorrow. _There is always something else to take care of…_

For now, he pressed on towards the central cavern of the habitation level, where he met T’Lalea, Aifn, and H’Man. There were a few other barracks claimed by various smaller factions, and the security chief directed him towards one of these. The area was guarded by some of its members, a male and a female alien. They didn’t seem to be armed, but T’Lalea had assured him they would be. She was working on acquiring – stealing, trading, or manufacturing – a supply of workable weapons, but for now they would just have to rely on the Elements.

They were admitted to a much more luxurious space than he’d been expecting. Saleema’s bed, or dais, or possibly both, was piled deep in furs. The other bunks had all been shifted so that hers, rebuilt as a single large platform, dominated the line of vision from the entrance. She herself was dressed more finely than anyone else he’d seen, though it was only a relative improvement. Ayel was used to the rough life of long-term mining operations, but his shirt was stained with week old blood, never mind the sweat. He could almost kill for a change of clothes. _If only she were my size._

Her little luxuries aside, she was very much as described, with layers of black and red hair falling from a high pony tail, dark eyes with ridges above running into her hairline, and grey skin. She looked him over with slitted eyes, then looked to T’Lalea.

“T’Lalea ir’Dinalea. This is your leader?”

“Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi.” She gave him a slight nod, then slipped back behind him to join Aifn and H’Man. Saleema kept her attention on him.

“Welcome to my refuge, Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi. I am Ivey Lahasalyen’ee Saleemasareenyahia. Saleema.”

“Ayel.”

“You are the Romulan leader?”

 _No._ Not Romulan, though the issue had been long settled by his time. The term Rihannsu was their own word, how they thought of themselves, and outsiders had disregarded it so thoroughly over time that they were no longer given the honour of knowing it. It was like a fourth name, almost. As for leadership… “I speak for our commander.”

“Very well, Spokesman Ayel.” Saleema stood and smiled. She was tall enough to look him in the eye, and fit and well built as might be expected of a Klingon’s consort. “I’m impressed with you lot. It takes others much longer to realize that I am the one to please to find any ease or comfort in this place. Though you are new, I am certain we can come to some arrangement.”

 _She didn’t ask about Nero._ Ayel followed with his eyes as she circled him, separating from the entourage T’Lalea had selected. He was glad they were there. “Arrangement?”

“Oh yes. A cut of your productivity is quite common, counted towards my work quota and those under my…. protection. Sometimes I do make other exchanges, Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi.”

She was standing quite close, leaning her face close to his, and he realized he must be scowling. As made no answer, she shrugged and returned to her dais.

“You aren’t interested.”

“We have better things to bargain with.”

A disturbing gleam returned briefly to her eye, but she shrugged, and settled herself back on her dais as she spoke. “If you insist. Still, there are many things said about you Romulans. That you are murderers, that you are wanted by the Federation and kept here as leverage. That you arrived in a ship of marvels which has since disappeared. I know you are many, and that you do not act like most inmates new to this place, who decry innocent imprisonment after false trials, or else brag about their foulest crimes. You have seemed uninterested in the complex politics of this frozen rock, with some exceptions-” She nodded to T’Lalea, “-until now. Yet things change around you, and I think will change more. Tell me, then, Spokesman, what you want from me.”

“I want a meeting with Q’Vul.”

“Do you? He doesn’t deal with prisoners.”

“He deals with you.”

She chuckled. “I have things you can’t offer him, Spokesman Ayel. At least… I am sure he wouldn’t accept.”

 _Oh, aren’t you a witty whore._ “Tell him our ship is a mining vessel.”

“I could tell him that, and he might be interested, if he believed it. It still remains for us to reach an agreement as to why I should.”

“You spoke of quotas-,”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “No. You spoke of having better things. It’s true, Spokesman. Have you a doctor?”

“We do.” Had T’Lalea known she would ask this? H’man said nothing.

“Then it is your doctor I want.”

“You can’t have him. You can have access to him.”

“Full access? Any time?”

“We are only asking for one meeting. You may have the same, and the rest, I’ll leave to him.”

Saleema looked down at her hands, buried in the thick pile of the furs that covered her bed.

“Very well. But I will have my meeting first.”

And the negotiations would continue. _We might be in a stronger position then._ “Make your arrangements with H’Man.” He looked to the doctor. Saleema seemed surprised, or perhaps relieved.

H’Man bowed his head to Ayeal, and stepped forward. As he did, however, a commotion arose in the main chamber, and drew everyone’s attention. Someone outside called Ayel’s name loudly, and Saleema’s guards tensed and turned inwards. The Rihannsu drew together defensively, but the lady of the chamber called her people off.

“Go,” she said to Ayel, and “Another time,” to H’Man. Her playfulness was gone, though her self-possession remained. He gave her no more consideration, but pushed with the others into the main hall.

The lift leading to the surface was just closing, and his first fear was that one of the crew had been punished by some infraction while he was distracted, and exiled to the surface to die. The arrogant guffaw of the warden boomed ahead, and again someone called his name. Chains clinked as they slumped to the ground, and the crowd parted, by will or by force, as he stalked purposefully towards the action.

There he was, just pulling himself to his knees – and that with much exertion - from a pile of loosed fetters: Nero.

“Captain!” he exclaimed, remembering himself. He folded himself into a full formal bow, holding it for four long breaths. Nero stayed kneeling, showing his relief in the hint of a grin he gave his second. The other Rihannsu, most of whom flooded the chamber as the news traveled, spread out to create a space around them. Nero’s hand was as cold as ice, and his grip was worryingly weak. Ayel called H’Man forward to help escort Nero to their barracks, out of the gaze of outsiders. He thanked all the Elements.


	7. Paren's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter draws heavily on, and therefore is spoilery for some TOS episodes, namely the Balance of Terror, and (especially) The Enterprise Incident. In fact, I would say that though the telling of if is my own, the *story* presented here belongs primarily to DC Fontana. This draw also heavily on some of the story, not just the flavour, created by Diane Duane. While her work influences the series strongly in general, I think it is worth mentioning for this chapter specifically.

_Little is know of the first contacts the empire had with the Federation – not Earth, with whom we had warred before, but Earth prime within a network of allies. Some among the Praetoriate and the Senate wished to test the power of that alliance after so long with no contact. There are many reasons this may have been so, but they have little bearing on this tale. What is important is that one ship was sent across the Neutral Zone to set our strength against theirs, and that it was destroyed. The ship who destroyed her was_ Enterprise _– not the first of that name, but the first of note to our people. Her commander was called Kirk. Her first officer we did not know then: a Vulcan, Spock. The time of that encounter lies in the future, and I cannot see that it will unfold in such a way again, nor that the tale I shall tell can be repeated. These stories belong now only to us, whose home and future are dead. More so than the lore I have spoken on other nights, more than Departure, more than the Journey, more than all the trials and triumphs of our people, this tale of Spock is important more than any other. We were brought here by his actions, his betrayal and failure, for vengeance against him._

 _Parts of this tale are well known. Others have been kept more private, and yet in some places are known. It concerns Spock, Kirk, and_ Enterprise _, and along with them it concerns a commander of the Imperial fleet. Her name is gone – stricken – and she is dead in name and spirit. Such was her fate. What is known, though not often spoken, is that her house was Rllaillieu. She was niece to Ael, Empress of the Sword, though this was before her time. There is no coincidence, for the one tale grows from the other, and so the world settles in to history under the sway of the Elements._

 _Perhaps it was because_ Enterprise _dealt with – destroyed – the Rihannsu ship who crossed the Neutral Zone. Perhaps it was because of Spock, who was Vulcan._ Enterprise _was chosen herself to cross the zone and enter our space. She and her crew shared the experience of our people. Spock shared pieces of our heritage. She was ordered into our space on a mission of espionage, and sabotage – a transparent plot, yet they crafted a tale to deceive us._

_It was to the commander that they first spread their lies. She spoke first with Kirk, the captain, whom she brought aboard her flagship. Kirk’s weak lie was to claim instrument failure, but this was calculated to support a stronger lie. Thus did the Federation wear its deceit openly, while claiming to be an organization of peace. It was clear they had ordered Kirk to spy on us, and inconceivable that we might accept so weak a story. She spoke next with Spock. We had known there were Vulcans in Starfleet, and some by name. And yet Spock surprised the commander._

_The history of our people, such as some have heard from me and some from the Vulcan himself at meetings held on our worlds, at first in secret, in order to foster views of sameness, was known to the commander. In her time, which may also be counted as this time where we find ourselves, there were – are – many who respected the Vulcans from afar. They considered them as brothers, though we had no contact since the early years of the Journey and though they had sided with outsiders who were enemies to us. The commander was one of these, and she held the Vulcans to be honourable people and thought the same of Spock. When she called upon his honour, he would not corroborate the tale told by Kirk, of instrument failure, and exposed the weak deception. Yet it was never by speaking the truth, but in his refusal to speak it that the lie was revealed._

_This is the lie that Spock told in its place: that Kirk was mad for glory, and crossed the Neutral Zone of his own accord and under no other authority. She had called on his honour, and because it is said even in our time that Vulcans cannot lie, she believed this. Kirk played his part and railed like a madman against Spock, and she had him locked away. When he threw himself against the energy barrier and was injured, they called to_ Enterprise _for their physician, McCoy, to come and tend him. But this matter was left at first to her subcommander, Tal. And she spent her time with Spock._

 _She was the commander of not a single vessel, but a fleet of three. They had thought to take_ Enterprise _as a prize. Along with this, she thought to have Spock – to take him from Starfleet and bring him into the Empire. I cannot say what impulse moved her, what Element swayed her thoughts and passions in this. Perhaps it was enough that he had seemed to betray his captain in the name of honour, and that he was Vulcan and so intrigued her. It is known that first she commanded him to attend her, and then she merely asked, and at his request she sent away the guards so that they might be alone._

_When the physician came to see Kirk, he requested to bring the captain back to their own ship. The commander was called, and with her came Spock. She had McCoy confirm Spock’s story, and in doing so he drew himself into that lie and into the espionage for which he would later stand trial at the old capital, Ra’tleihfi, when the Sword was taken. As I have told you, these tales weave together. Through Spock, they touch on our own tale, which will end in its time with fire and death for him. Kirk denied the accusations that he was space mad, and raged against Spock for his treason, and attacked him. When he lunged, Spock caught him, according to the accounts given, first on the face and holding him by the shoulder. Kirk collapsed, and the physician named him dead. So little did we know of our distant brother race at that time – in this time – that when Spock claimed that in defense and surprise he had used against Kirk the Vulcan Death Grip, he was believed. There is no such thing, and never has there been such a thing, as we all know. But this lie was accepted and Kirk returned to his ship to prepare for greater mischief._

_The commander and Spock ate alone in her quarters. From the transcripts of her trial, we know that she wished for him to take command of_ Enterprise _for her, and bring that ship to a Rihannsu port. Surely they spoke of this. She served ale, and special dishes from old recipes thought to please a Vulcan palate. They were alone together some time, and during this period when there was none to account for the actions of either, she left Spock alone and he made a call within the ship on his communication device. When it was traced, which was quickly, his duplicity was made known. But this did not happen straightaway. They ate, they talked. Who can say what else? When Subcommander Tal came to alert her of the transmission, she had chanced from her uniform to civilian dress. They stood close and she was made very angry to hear she was betrayed. “How could you do this to me?” she cried. “What are you that you could do this to me?” And who was he, to rouse such personal anger? Yet surely she could see the price for her errors in judgement even then, and perhaps this alone spurred her reaction._

_Despite this, she never sent Spock away, though quickly she accepted she had been tricked and accused him as well of espionage and sabotage. Being Vulcan, he saw no purpose in denying his guilt and accepted his position. He requested the Rite of Statement, a thing which showed how much better our enemy knew us then than we did them. In his statement, of which we have kept records, he admitted his guilt, that he was there to spy, and had deceived the commander and our people. I cannot give you his words here, in his own voice, though I have heard them. They were honest enough words. He spoke of Starfleet, and duty, and how the common heritage of our people was a starting point for his deception even then. He lied in the face of his own honour, and despite it, because of orders he was given from his commanders. Duty before honour. This was his defense. It is a thing our people can understand: the honour of the Empire, the state, the family, before oneself._

_Still, this was no defense at all. It could not undo his treachery. What could? Nothing, no words. But it explains Spock, and his dealings with the Rihannsu then, always. Whatever his goals, whatever hidden passions may warm his cold Vulcan heart, all of these are subject to the will and authority of others: Starfleet. The Federation. The Vulcan High Council. When he came to my clan on ch’Havran, we asked him what his masters wanted of him there, and in the Empire. He spoke of unification, common history. We played back his words for him – he spoke of history then as well, when he gave his statement. His masters wished to soften us in to something they would not need fear, and we saw this. He left, as he saw he could not make us trust him._

_The giving of his statement by rite was itself another trick. He needed the time, as McCoy did at his trial later, to allow Kirk to work his mischief. After his seemed death, Kirk returned to the flagship to steal a cloaking device using information revealed to him by Spock. Starfleet knew, still knows, little of such technology. During this time, the commander’s soldiers searched for Spock’s accomplice, but once Kirk returned to_ Enterprise _they had no chance to find him. Besides this, he was well disguised. When the device was taken, they sought to recover Spock as well. With him came the commander, by her design and not by theirs. They thought to bargain for their lives with hers, but she ordered them destroyed. It was only because they employed the device they stole from us that they reached safety._

 _She was returned to the Empire and stood trial for treason. I have told you her sentence: She let the device be taken, though she tried to act for honour and_ mnhei-sahe _, and she was deceived. This too was no defense. She had failed in her duty. Her name was stripped and she was made dead._

 _What she has taught us of Spock, I have spoken. I will speak it again. Perhaps he truly loves the Rihannsu. He surely knows us as no other outsider ever has. For much of our history with the Federation he has been present. But he is not his own man. He acts not as a true child of Vulcan, but as the Federation’s creature. This has long been known, though often disregarded. It is the Federation who masters his duty, and his honour. Even at our senate he spoke as the Federation Ambassador. We cannot trust him to do anything other than what he is commanded. Duty is no defense for his crimes, then or now. It cannot protect him from the Elements. It will not protect him from us._ Mnhei-sahe _demands we respect the honour of our enemy, and so we must know this of him, and we must know to whom he subsumes his honour, for they must pay as well._

During her tale, Paren looked calmly to her audience – the gathered refugees leaning or sitting against their barracks beds, wrapped in dirty prison furs. Now she looked to her commander, and to Ayel beside him. There was a breath. Nero nodded – a bare hint of acceptance, though his eyes burned angrily. He rose – Ayel followed.

Later, he told her that her tales were good. Welcome. Even needed. But she was never to speak of Spock again unless ordered. Some Fire burns too hot and too wild to be fed or fanned by even the most careful Air.


	8. Disruptions

For the first few weeks of their incarceration, the prison work schedule seemed monotonous. Nero had been allowed three days to recover, the guards uncharacteristically accepting of the Rihannsu’s refusal to allow them to disturb their leader. On the fourth day, they waved rifles in the crew’s faces, and the captain had pulled himself to his feet and walked with the rest of the men to the lift. He stayed with Ayel, H’Man and Vanor, and worked until the doctor made him stop. In the evenings, Paren told her stories, and they made their plans. In the days, they worked.

The women had their own labours, though by all accounts there was less of it. They helped prepare the food – mostly protein gruel for the inmates. Those who were better trusted assisted with meals for the guards as well, though no Rihannsu were assigned to that detail. They were expected to keep the barracks in order, and as part of these duties managed to scavenge for things of use. They build a private enclosure at the far end of their own hall to give the captain some privacy. There were also less pleasant things for them to clean, like the prison latrines.

“Its degrading,” Aifn had complained. “At least your work has some honour.”

“What Rihannsu could find honour in bondage?” Ayel had shot back. “We are meant to be masters, not slaves.” He could have said more, but only reminded her that their time would come. _At least you can rest._ He never felt rested anymore, just bone-weary, muscle sore. The physical aspect he could handle, but he felt mentally drained as well, and that he could ill-afford. He kept telling himself that he’d get used to it soon enough – another day or so. _Always tomorrow…_

There was no real night on Rura Penthe. With three suns in the system, there was always one on the horizon to force a haze of light through the snow and storms. The prison, underground regardless, operated on an arbitrary twenty-six hour cycle. When the guards came, all save the sentries had been sleeping. Nero woke him – the raised voices had not. Wrapping his furs around him quickly, Ayel followed his captain towards the sounds. Others were waking now as well.

“The next one of you who stands in our way will be sent to the surface!” A loud Klingon voice boomed through the cavern. The guards hadn’t forced their way inside Rihannsu territory in over a week now, relying instead on smaller patrol to pass through after first-meal to ensure that no one was shirking their various duties.

“Captain!” Llhran, a young computer tech who’d drawn the early shift, turned and saluted as Nero approached. The side of his face was puffy, stung a bright green. Rhyd, the other sentry stood his ground. He was larger and more solid – one of Vanor’s crew. The captain acknowledged the younger Rihannsu with a nod, and fixed the lead guard, Maunn, with a challenging stare. Maunn had put himself at the head of a number of conflicts with their people, over food, work, women… Ayel sneered in distaste as he addressed him.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Your women have work to do. Send them out now, or we’re coming to take them.”

“Work? They’re sleeping.” Ayel ignored the fact that T’Lalea had crept into place beside him, and that by now half the compound must be awake. “What on this sad little rock could possibly be so urgent?”

“Send them out!” Maunn shoved his disruptor rifle in Ayel’s face. Before he could react, Nero wrenched the barrel away from the Klingon, who now seemed unable to look away from the captain’s burning eyes.

“What. Work,” Ayel repeated, smug despite the other guns aimed his way. Maunn held on to his answer until Nero inclined his head slightly – a subtle and threatening gesture Ayel was still getting used to. _He could never pull that off if he still had hair._ They’d improvised some knives to keep their heads shaved. There weren’t enough to go around, but Nero kept the sharpest.

“Stabilizing the ore for transport.” Maunn spat, seething hate and resentment. Clearly they’d been warned off of Nero. _They still want information from him._ The captain nodded. In the background a number of other women stumbled by tiredly, escorted by more guards.

“Then they’ll be with you soon enough.” Nero turned and headed back into the barracks, but Ayel remained with the sentries. The captain’s role had played out, but Ayel wasn’t willing to relinquish control of the scene. “How long should we expect them to be gone?”

“They’ll be back when they’re finished.”

“Finished?” There was a lot of ore stockpiled. He’d seen the amount that had come out of the mines since their arrival, and Elements knew how long it had been since the last pick-up. With modern – what he’d come to think of as real – technology, like what was available on _Narada_ , the processing of high volumes of dilithium ore wouldn’t take more than a few hours. If he’d had to judge by the geotech he’d seen here, he’d have barely thought the Klingons capable of space travel. _It could take days._ “I’d be more precise if I were you. You wouldn’t want us to get worried.”

Maunn was sizing him up again. He was so transparent his thoughts could have been written across the silvery metal of his uniform helmet. Sure, he had a gun, and sure his friends did too. Maybe these Klingons really did have the hearts of warriors. But the chance that he would, himself, survive if he so much as laid a hand on Ayel with so many cranky Rihannsu at hand was slim. And there would be no honour in dying in a prison riot because of a little backtalk, no mater how many unarmed men you took down. No, no – there would certainly be better days, and ways, to die. Ayel smirked, and Maunn spat again at his feet.

“How should I know? Days maybe. Are you so afraid of what will happen if you go too long without a woman, Romulan? Only you have so few of them to go around… Perhaps you already know – perhaps you’re not worried at all!”

His own anger enflamed him then, and Maunn laughed at his little victory.

“Someday,” he hissed.

“Someday soon, I hope,” the Klingon chortled.

And then T’Lalea was back, with Paren, Aifn, and the handful of other women, barely over ten percent of _Narada_ ’s crew. The security chief caught his arm and gave him a stern look.

“I’ve left Illraehi in charge. Keep Nero out of trouble. Keep yourself out of trouble. We’ll be fine.”

Ayel nodded. _Elements guide us all._


	9. Conflict

Things were different without the women, and it wasn’t just that the food became even less palatable. Tensions were higher all around. Even the guards seemed more on edge. The first night, the crew took advantage of the disruption in their nightly ritual to catch some extra rest. This second evening, some were seeking other distractions to fill their time. Ayel might have preferred to rest, but as he saw Nero approaching, knew that wasn’t going to happen. He swung his legs back over the side of his bunk, stretched out his neck, and strode over to meet his captain. Nero received him with a nod and headed out of their barracks into the central chamber. _He never smiles anymore._ But that was the price he paid for his choices: to find no solace in the small things – life, honour, companionship – remaining to them. Revenge was an oppressive, isolating burden. Ayel wondered if the silence made it easier or harder to bear.

He also wondered where they were going. There were a number of other Rihannsu out here already. Most were broken into small groups of people who worked together in the mines, or had on Narada, or both. There were others as well, aliens, gathered in their own cliques and following their own routines, or drawn out like his own people by the disruption cause by the women’s absence. Most he knew by sight, and some by name, and he knew Nero did as well.

“Captain!” a voice called. “Ayel!” Vanor waved them over. He was sitting with a few others - Rhyd, H’lad, and Parva - all from his crew. “Join us for a drink?”

Such an innocuous phrase – they’d head it a thousand times before, at the guildhall in Ra'tleihfi, and any of the local alehouses. They’d pull up a chair, share a few rounds between them, and find out how life was unraveling for their people between contracts. He glanced at Nero, who shrugged, eyes distant. Ayel wondered if he was remembering the same things. They headed over.

“Drink of what?”

“They call it churn. It’s red, it’s vicious, and it’ll take the edge off of anything.” The old miner pressed a jug into his hands, and he noted it was ceramic, not metal. It was also strangely warm to the touch, and the fumes were strong enough to make him blink even before he brought it anywhere near his face.

“Are you sure it’s not just engine fuel?”

Vanor laughed. It was apparently enough to get him drunk. “It’s no ale, lad, but it’s all we’ve got, isn’t it?”

True enough. He brought the jug to his lips, and swallowed a mouthful. Churn was a good name for it – his insides roiled in protest and he coughed. Nero nudged him companionably in the ribs and appropriated the container. _This is a plot to get us to poison ourselves, isn’t it?_ He could only watch in fascination as his friend upended the jug, swallowing several times before thrusting it back towards he others. The look on his face was expressive, to say the least. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet, though he looked a little yellow.

“Now,” Rhyd slurred, “that’s Fire!”

“That’s our captain,” Vanor shot back. His grin spoke approval, his slitted eyes calculation. “All Fire and Earth. I remember that night on Eilhaunn where you almost drank Thrai under the table? Almost. Well – to the dead then?” He raised the bottle in salute, and drank.

Nero nodded again, slowly, and though his eyes were on the miner, it seemed they were focused on a point very far away. He’d recovered his colour at least. Ayel wondered if they’d stay after that, and Nero clapped him on the shoulder and turned away.

He didn’t release him right away, and Ayel found himself directed towards the shadows at the edge of the cave. Questions queued in his mind – Are you well? What is it? What do you need? – he dismissed them. He knew he wouldn’t get more than an answering glare. No, he was left to guess the matter on his own. The drink or memories, probably both. The captain didn’t seem unsteady, and as horrible as the churn was, it would’ve needed to be pretty noxious to have any strong impact. It hadn’t killed Vanor or the others yet, and he felt only a mild queasiness that probably just meant that he hadn’t had enough. Memories, however, were proving a potent poison these days. They walked in silence, and Ayel couldn’t quite make out his friend’s face. The eyes he could imagine – still fixed on some distant point, blazing like the embers of a dying sun.

“Nero,” he said, hoping to drag the other man back to the present. It seemed to work, as he turned to the sound of Ayel’s voice. He seized on his first stray though for something to follow up with. “I expect we’ll have our chance to meet with Ch’Vul after the women get back.” It was nothing his commander couldn’t have concluded himself, but his attention seemed more focused, and his lips tightened in to a thoughtful line. He recognized the distraction, but didn’t appear to object. H’Man’s meeting with Saleema had taken place only a few days before the women were called away. Things had apparently gone well enough that she had agreed to speak to her lover on behalf of the Rihannsu – when opportunity arose. It was reasonable to expect the Klingon geophysicist would be involved in inspecting or overseeing the treatment of the dilithium ore. “I want to be clear on what we’re offering.”

Nero had been listening, hadn’t released his grip. Suddenly, his attention was drawn by something Ayel couldn’t see, and he tensed, turning his second around and, finally, letting go of his arm. Two large, ugly aliens, armed with thick metal rods sheared to angular points were approaching – Nausicaans.

“Is this a private conference, Romulans? Because we have something we’d like to say.” The leader of the two barred his teeth, flashing his tusks.

“What do you want?” Ayel kept his voice firm, switching from Rihannsu to Standard. He could feel his pulse quicken as Nero too a step towards them, hand reaching for his blade. It was the same feeling he’d had when Klingons had boarded Narada, before they’d been pulled back in time. But then he and Nero had kept to the shadows, using the ship against the only one who’d made it past the rest of the crew. Here, they lacked the advantage.

“We don’t think you people understand the hierarchy around here,” the leader growled, tightening his grip around the makeshift spear. “But we’re going to clear that up.”

Nero had already shifted in to a defensive stance, guarding the line of his body with his knife. Ayel mirrored him, closing the space between them so that they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. It reminded him of fighting drills, instructions his sister pushed him to master. She’d wanted him to be like her, and she’d excelled at llaekh’ae’rl from an early age. It had never come so easily to him. “How can someone with so much stubborn Earth lack grounding?” She’d boggled. “Maybe you’re just too tall.” _Maybe I just think too much._

It hardly seemed to matter, as the lead Nausicaaan lunged forward with a vicious jab. Nero was ready – he knew all the tricks to dirty fighting. Stepping in to the attack, he dropped his knife, twisted his body out of the way, and grabbed the spear, pulling it down and out of his attacker’s hands. He whirled it around, levelling the sharpened point at his attacker’s chest. The weapon was not so completely different from a teral’n, and Ayel knew Nero had been practicing with that before they’d left Narada.

The other Nausicaan bellowed, jabbing his spear at Ayel. He dodged the blow, landing what he thought was a solid punch to his assailant’s midsection. It barely elicited a grunt. The responding attack was a wild headbutt that caught Ayel in the cheek and sent him reeling backwards, followed up with a fast spear-thrust. He barely avoided impalement by dropping in to a low crouch, reaching back for Nero’s discarded knife as he did. A short bellow of pain distracted both combatants – Nero had managed to stab his opponent deep in the flesh of his thigh, but lost the embedded weapon as a consequence.

Ayel’s hand closed around the knife, a sharp shard of metal wrapped in leather at its hilt. He sprang to his feet, lashing out to force his opponent back. His success was moderate. Less than an arm’s length away, the other fight had turned for Nero, now locked in a painful stranglehold by the taller, stronger alien. Ayel plunged the blade deep in to the shoulder of the Nausicaan holding his friend.

“Captain!” It was Illraehi, T’Lalea’s stand-in, drawing a long-bladed knife as he threw himself in to the melee. Things happened very quickly. Ayel’s opponent whirled on the interloper, spearing him cleanly through the chest with a motion that showed more instinct than skill. Ayel gave a cry, driving his own blade up through the back of the Nausicaan’s thick neck. Both fell – dead. It was the first time he’d killed anyone in a face-to-face fight. His anger was greater than his shock, but he felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach regardless. _Nero still needs me._ He turned to the ongoing fight.

The captain must have kicked his attacker in the injured leg, as the alien had dropped to one knee. His wounded shoulder sagged, but Fire burned bright in his eyes as he pulled the spear from his own thigh with a great bellow. Nero wasn’t watching his opponent though – he’d stepped back out of range, and his gaze flickered from Ayel to something in the distance. Another bellow answered the Nausicaan’s.

“What’s going on over there!” The warden.

Nero backed up further as the alien rose unsteadily to his feet, glancing towards a pack of guards assembling near the warden. Getting caught here would mean exile for any of them.

“This isn’t over,” the Nausicaan hissed, slipping off in to the shadows without a glance at his fallen partner.

They didn’t waste time watching him go and made their own exit swiftly, winding their way back to the Narada cave. Ayel’s thoughts were scattered, and the queasiness stayed with him. Once they arrived, Nero withdrew behind the metal wall erected to mark his private quarters. _How apt._ Ayel had seen the brief flash of deeply buried loss as his friend had looked on yet another corpse of one of his crew – his people. Since the Federation aide ships had arrived, moments too late, in Rihannsu space, Nero had kept that Water dammed behind a wall of steel, tempered with firey rage: pain turned outward against those who’d hurt and betrayed him. But every additional Rihannsu death pushed at that barrier. It had to. It did for Ayel.

Guards would be here soon, with questions about the bodies. About Illraehi. Ayel pulled himself together, setting aside his own unease. He’d avenged his crewmate. That was all. That was good. He could let the captain do the grieving, carry yet another burden, if that was his wish. Meanwhile, Ayel would do all he could to ensure that he was left alone – that they were all just left alone.


	10. Alliances Tested

Saleema stood off to the side, whispering things to H’Man she must have known would get passed along to his commander. She was keeping secrets from her own, or from the guards keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings. Ayel only recognized a few of them, despite having been on the prison gulag for almost two month. The doctor’s expression had soured as soon as the alien woman approached him, but he nodded occasionally.

Ayel let his attention drift elsewhere. H’Man was trustworthy, and he couldn’t be blamed for his reluctance. Saleema’s personal goals might unrealistic and unpalatable, but his involvement way key to this negotiation. At least nothing she wanted was threatening to the Rihannsu. _Unless it costs us H’Man._ But Nero had considered that, and here they stood regardless, waiting in silence while she hatched her little plots. He glanced sideways. The captain’s face was impassive: mouth drawn tight, eyes cold and glittering, watching or thinking or both. He didn’t acknowledge Ayel.

Finally, there was movement among the guards, and one of the security doors on the mezzanine slid open. Q’Vul did not disappoint his expectations. The descriptions T’Lalea had gathered were quite accurate. The Klingon was short for one of his kind, and his eyes bugged out from beneath his ridges of his brow in a manner that reminded Ayel of a picture he’d once seen of Chancellor Gowron. His features wore a sour, suspicious look, but there was cunning in his gaze as he took in the Rihannsu party. They could use him, or at least work with him.

Saleema was allowed up to his level, and they whispered briefly together as she took his arm. She was notably taller, and probably stronger as well, but apparently allowed herself to be possessed. It was easy to believe she’d been a spy.

“Introductions, then,” she announced. Q’Vul shook his head, clapping his hand over her arm to command her silence. If she resented it, she kept it well hidden.

“Not necessary. They know who I am. I certainly know them – names and numbers. And profession too, if you haven’t been lying to my woman. Two of you can come up here and try to sell me on whatever little scheme you have in mind. Choose well, and choose fast.”

Partway though his speech, his protruding eyes had settled on Nero, and the orders had been addressed to him. Ayel almost stepped forward before Nero nodded to him. Instead of selecting himself as the second, however, the captain indicated H’Man. Ayel’s surprise barely registered before it passed. It made sense. T’Lalea scowled, but it was doubtful that any combination would have satisfied her.

Guards approached the two of them, and removed makeshift knives from both. The search had been inevitable, but it was better to give them something to find. Luckily, none of Maunn’s cronies were part of the detail. _Or it might not be luck..._ He glanced from where T’Lalea stood fuming to Saleema, whispering again in her patron’s ear as she watched the Rihannsu from the corner of her eye.

He and H’Man were ushered upstairs, then marched a few paces behind Q’Vul through a maze of grated-off rooms. The geophysicist picked one, seemingly at random, and ordered the escort to wait outside. There wasn’t much to the place. Crates labelled in Klingon were stacked on three sides of the room, and Q’Vul seated himself on one of these. Saleema took up her place to his right, resting her hand on his shoulder as the guards exited. Their host grinned, barring his teeth.

“Let’s talk, then.”

\----------------

Nero nodded as Ayel described the meeting. He’d scavenged paper somewhere, and folded it into a small book. He wrote as Ayel spoke, but whether the notes were related to the conversation was anyone’s guess.

“H’Man gave a surprisingly fiery tirade on nutrition. There’s not enough copper in the slop they serve. Shocking. He told me after that without it, none of us will last two years here, let alone twenty. The Klingon agreed we would have to introduce things slowly. I said five years for the processors, minimum. He agreed to two, if we start with stabilizers now.

“He’ll start having out quotas reduced when we send him someone reliable. He’s expecting us to need the initial reduction to manage the loss of a worker. I say we send him one of the women – they should be recovered by now. Maybe Aifn or Rihain. They’re both qualified and loyal. Rihain is only a technician. She might be better. T’Lalea will know better which can be spared.”

Nero had stopped writing, and was watching thoughtfully instead. There was distance in his gaze – his thoughts were elsewhere.

Ayel paused, hoping the silence might bridge that disconnect – that his time and efforts weren’t in fact being ignored. Nothing. “This is your plan.” He resisted adding ‘sir.’ It shouldn’t be about rank, not between them, and not for this. Nero stood, setting aside his notes, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He met Ayel’s eyes and briefly bowed his head. _Honour due to honour – Mnhei’sahe._

The tension seemed to dissipate – a spark extinguished.

“I’ll speak to her.”

Nero nodded again, turning back to his book. Notes and sketches, a brief look revealed. Ayel closed the makeshift door of the partition, and found T’Lalea waiting at his bunk. Was she listening?

“All is well?” She rose and fell in to step as he wound through the Narada enclave.

“Yes.” He told her quietly what they needed, but his heart was less certain of his answer. The fire was gone, but the air remained smoky.


	11. Conversations

“Yes… It would be easier to do the other, but not as convincing. She says she can get the equipment, but I don’t see how. They may not even have the technology. Biologically, as far as I can tell, she is quite similar to a Cardassian, but I’ve never heard of her species. Maybe she is from some kind of sub-species they’re destined to eradicate in the next hundred years. Or some degeneration that came about through too much genetic experimentation, like the Remans. Anatomically, that would be my guess.

“I do know Cardassians well enough. From the war. There’s no such thing as a civilian doctor in that kind of mess. Things were cleaner before their deception turned us against the Dominion. I came to you to put that behind me. Treating element poisoning and nutritional deficiencies on the far reaches of Imperial space is mundane service by any standard, but I welcomed it.

“Things have changed for us now. I understand that. I will do my duty, if it can be done. Saleema trusts Q’Vul will be pleased, if she can bear this little monstrosity. I am less certain. Even if she’s right, they may just take her away from here. T’Lalea says she has plans if that happens, and if you trust her, I will as well.

“Captain – I don’t like this business. There is no honour in it. I will do all that is necessary to keep our people safe, and see that we survive long enough for our revenge. Ask me for no more.”

\-------------------------------------------------

“Is it because I’m from Ch’Havran? Because I’m Ship Clan? Sometimes I think you resent me. Is it because of the stories I tell? Or because I can tell them, and you need me to do it? I can tell it pains you to listen – oh, such looks you give me, as though my silence could bring you some respite. But I share your pain. Ch’Havran is gone too – always the lesser, the shadow of Ch’Rihan. If your home is gone, its passing turned mine to a charred and barren rock. If on Ch’Rihan, all things perished by Fire, on Ch’Havran, the atmosphere and seas boiled away. Fire and Air. All the rest was frozen, and imploded in the vacuum of space. There were debates, among the Travellers, that Void should have been an element. Maybe they were right. Maybe that is all we are now – a destructive, aching, emptiness…

“Destroyers we are. You know it. I don’t know if the others have accepted it. But one death is not sufficient. Our enemy deserves that we should honour him with a more fitting, a more complete revenge.

“Should I tell them?

“Well, perhaps I can prepare them for you in other ways.

“Sometimes, I think we are like the Travellers. Exiles, though not by choice, with no home. _Narada_ waits, it’s true, but she is as poisoned as we are. Poisoned. I can’t think of the hearthworlds and not feel them burning. I hear others talk sometimes of returning. There is no ‘return.’ There is no ‘over.’ We do not belong to these worlds. They would not have us. Can you feel the world changing already? It tastes of ash.

" _Mnhei’sahe_ demands your silence. It demands my stories. Our stories. They belong to us – to the _Narada_ Clan. You would never have had them of me before. We are family now. Jolantru, Captain.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Rihain, then. I’d rather keep Aifn with me. You might check with Vanor that she is qualified – that I couldn’t say. It’s a good plan, Ayel.”

“Will it cause more tension?”

“We’re Rihannsu. There will always be tension.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Nothing unmanageable. Most would come to you if they had a problem.”

“Maybe. Things have changed.”

“I know. Some have been talking to Nero. H’Man. Paren. Some others.”

“They shouldn’t have done that.”

“Perhaps not. But you’re right. Things are out of balance, with his silence, and Thrai’s death. This new alliance with Q’Vul will shake things up again, just as things are settling in to a rhythm now that the women are back.”

“And Illraehi.”

“Yes. You’re not the only one whose job has changed – for whom the demands of _mnhei’sahe_ have changed.”

“I mean you no dishonour, T’Lalea, or the others. In the end, no. My role hasn’t changed. I stand between Nero and the rest. Before, it seemed I was there to create space. Now there is none to be made, and I am being crushed.”

“You can’t crush air.”

“Is that all you think I am? None of us are free from Fire anymore. Fire consumes Air.”

“Maybe you need to construct yourself more carefully.”

“How do you mean.”

“Look at Nero. He has so much anger, so much Fire. But he still has so much Earth! You both do. His Fire is like molten Earth. It’s the core of him. We all know it’s there. But Earth is his mantle. It’s what we see – strong face and burning eyes.”

“And we’re all waiting for him to erupt.”

“Yes. Explosively. Devastatingly. Vengeance will be a beautiful and terrible thing. But slow in coming.”

“Do you really think we’ll survive long enough?”

“All of us? No. We all know that’s not possible. We’re already losing people, and its been a handful of months.”

“Illrahei to the Naussicaans. Saeren to radiation poisoning. Giellun caught and punished for stealing. H’Man says we may loose Eurig and some others unless Q’Vul comes through soon with the supplements he promised.”

“Start Rihain with him soon, then. But I thought this was about you.”

“Fine. Given, then, that I can preserve my Air better – by becoming more like Nero, which is something you told me I should *not* do-”

“That’s not what I said. You shouldn’t try to *be* him. Maybe that’s still the problem, Ayel. Are the crew distancing themselves from you, or you from them?”

“Both, maybe.”

“You don’t have to let them.”

“That would mean distancing myself from Nero.”

“Maybe that’s what’s called for.”

“He needs me, T’lalea.”

“Yes – to hold the crew together.”

“I know! But-”

“If you offer him too much, there is a risk he will take it. And where would that leave us? This is beyond him. Beyond you, or any of us. Necessity has changes us all, and not in to things we ever wanted to be. Its _mnhei’sahe_. Nero made it that way, and we agreed. No turning back.”

“No turning back…”


	12. New Status Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rihannsu investigate rumours that other inmates have located a large deposit of Dilithium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Returning after a loooong hiatus, spurred on by the release of the recent movie and (more or less) completing my PhD. Fuller notes on the series are at the end of the latest chapter.
> 
> Thanks Nary for the beta on this one.

Twenty-Five Years 12 – The New Status Quo

"You're too good at this," Ayel commented as T'Lalea finished her report outlining the specifics of the large dilithium deposit that one of the smaller inmate factions had come across in the mines, and the ensuing petty power struggles the Rihannsu had so far been successfully avoiding.

T'Lalea arched her eyebrows, recognizing the probe for what it was. "Someone has to be – there's no one else to look out for us but ourselves.''

Ayel nodded. " _Ie_." It was true enough, and he didn't think that she was disloyal to their crew – their clan, as Paren had been calling them in her story sessions. But the speed at which she'd established and infiltrated information networks in the prison compound had awakened questions in his mind that he would have never dared to raise even obliquely before their present course had been set. Now, when he wasn't sure it mattered, she wasn't going to give him an answer anyway. _Maybe she doesn't think it matters either_. There were more pressing concerns in any case. "You think they'll come to us, then?"

"The smart ones will, but they're not all smart. They might think they can hire better muscle to protect their find."

"Don't tell me – the Naussicaan." Ayel scowled. Kanigar was the survivor from the fight the month before. He'd been smart enough to curry favour with other groups and factions opposed to the power the Rihannsu had amassed, and were still amassing. 

"Maybe. There are other choices, but he might be the most trouble."

"We don't need the dilithium. We don't even know if this is all worth it." Ayel frowned more deeply. "I don't want to get sucked further into these little games for nothing. I'll take Vanor and H'Rhish tomorrow, and we'll see what the fuss is about."

"And the captain?"

Ayel nodded. "And the captain." _If he cares to come..._

Ayel had been spending less time with Nero when they weren't working, and more with the rest of crew. Overall, the effect of this seemed to be positive. He was better able to keep track of the factioning in the crew, and to do what he could to keep any serious rivalries from developing. He felt more in tune with their needs, and less distanced from them – they were coming to him again with their problems, as they should, and leaving Nero alone.

Nero seemed to prefer this as well. He never sought out Ayel, or even T'Lalea. He kept himself apart in his bunk, scribbling away on the scraps of paper the others scavenged for him. His disengagement was frustrating, and Ayel couldn't quite quiet the voice in his mind that cried out _where is the honour I am due?_ But he served, and did not complain, because it was necessary not just for honour's sake, but for survival as well. Without Nero, even an increasingly distant Nero, they would turn inwards and destroy themselves. When the captain indicated that he would join theMaybe this would an opportunity to draw him back out.

* * *

The Rihannsu work crews were six men apiece. Ayel, Vanor, H'Rhish and Nero made four – he rounded out the rest with two of the bigger men in the crew. _Clan_ he found himself thinking again. S'Terek and Lhain could be intimidating, though the latter was actually one of their remaining field medics. S'Terek was from one of the drill crews and was at least as tough as he looked. H'Rhish was from geology and, in Ayel's experience, had the best natural eye for it. 

The six of them met the night before for a briefing. "They'll know something is up when we switch our crews, but that's fine. We really just want a look to see if it is worth our trouble or not. I've heard it looks big, but the scum in here with us aren't miners. That said – there's no instrument readings to go off here, and not even a field manual to review, so I want you to be as certain as you can." He gave Vanor and H'Rhish each a long look, and they nodded curtly in return - H'Rhish at least followed it up with a respectful "Yes, sub-commander."

The guards did know something was up in the morning, and they had to wait until after the midday meal break to find an opportunity to look for the dilithium. T'Lalea's report had given them the general area, and they'd been working in the vicinity all day – another deviation from routine. Ayel had watched the Orion pirate whose crew was supposed to have made the discovery slink down a narrow passage to their right, and as they picked up their equipment to resume work, he nodded the others in that direction. 

He led the way himself, Lhain and S'Terek flanking Nero behind him, with H'Rhish and Vanor bringing up the rear. The passage was narrow, and the only guards Ayel saw were the ones following the Rihannsu to keep an eye on them. It wouldn't do to have them find the deposit, as there would be no question of controlling it at all – all the men would be tasked with mining the area until it was gone, and the whole issue of quotas would be forgotten. The inmates of Rura Penthe had learned that lesson long ago, and did their best to obfuscate any significant finds.

The passage through the mine narrowed considerably and turned sharply ahead, and Ayel felt Nero's hand on his shoulder, holding him back. The captain nodded to S'Terek to take point for the moment. He grinned, creeping slowly around the corner, quickly dodging a blow, then grabbing his attacker and hauling him back into the middle of the Rihannsu party.

The man before them was an Orion, one of the group who'd found the deposit. He brushed himself off, eyeing the looming Rihannsu who'd circled around him before grinning slyly. After another thoughtful look at Nero, he turned to address Ayel.

"Commander Ayel – that's correct isn't it? I take it you've heard about our little find, hmm? I had hoped you might take an interest. I'm Tarras."

"We know who you are, and our interests are not any of your business. Move aside."

The calculation never left Tarras's eyes, but his smile tightened. "I'll move aside, Romulan. Please – pass through, take a good look, and then perhaps you'll reconsider just where our interests might coincide."

Ayel was already looking past him, and ordered S'Terek and Lhain ahead. He waited with Nero while Vanor and H'Rhish went next. Tarras waited, following after them but keeping his distance, watching them carefully. The rest of Tarras's crew had stopped working, no doubt listening to the exchange. One of them, another Orion, was very deliberately tapping his hand laser. The others looked more apprehensive, gripping their own lasers tightly. After a brief assessment, Ayel ignored them all.

Despite lying in his bunk the night before trying to remember details from classes he'd taken decades ago, when Ayel looked past the prisoners at the wall of rock, all he could see was the green blood they'd have to lose to keep it. There was dilithium, alright – a sizable node that looked to stretch further back into the granite matrix. He turned away, but he had to wait for Nero before heading back up the side passage. The others fell in line behind them with their muscle bringing up the rear.

Once they were back out far enough that they could talk without too easily being overheard, Nero stopped.

"Report," Ayel prompted.

Vanor shrugged. "It's big."

"Yes but-" H'Rhish, caught himself, and then turned to Nero. "Captain. The deposit is large, yes, but it's too impure for the kinds of processing these barbarians are using. I suspect it might also be highly unstable, if it contains any of the same inclusions as the granite matrix."

"We could still use it though, sir," Vanor pressed. "They don't know the difference."

"We'll discuss it further later." For now, Ayel felt relieved, and they had work to do.

* * *

They decided to let Tarras keep his dilithium. T'Lalea listened to Vanor's suggestions, but in the end she agreed with Ayel – Rihannsu lives weren't worth the risk. In a display of surprising perception, the Orion traded it away to a Tellarite. Most of the gulag's inmates judged it a poor deal until one of the transport carts exploded, killing the Tellarite, his gang, and caving in most of the surrounding tunnel network. The Rihannsu, and Tarras, had all been working sections far to the east.

What was more important to Ayel happened the day following the initial encounter. Instead of reassembling what had become their usual team, Nero had clapped him on the shoulder and directed him to one of the other Rihannsu crews. The next day, he picked another. There was rarely much to talk about during the long shifts in the mines anyway, and the men, at least, were glad for this sign that their captain was still one of them. Ayel felt a little better, but wished he had a sense whether Nero – his captain, his friend – kept him close because he wanted to, or only needed him for appearances.

**Author's Note:**

> Sources and Resources: I am drawing on a number of sources for this work. Primarily, of course, the movie. However, it is the supplemental material, especially the prequel comic Countdown, as well as the movie tie-in book, which gives more information about the Romulan characters. These, especially the comic (which I recommend to anyone interested in the movie Romulans or Spock Prime), provide me with a lot of material. I am also drawing heavily on the cultural and historical material presented Diane Duane's Rihannsu novels, mixing and matching with the presentation of the Romulans seen in TNG. I've seen the DVD cut scenes from Rura Penthe now, but most of this was already written, and they don't fit in well, alas :/ Essentially, I'm cherry-picking what I consider cannon. If anyone has questions or suggestions, please feel free to ask.
> 
> As for resources, I do recommend the Diane Duane books, especially My Enemy, My Ally and The Romulan Way. The latter has a glossary of Romulan (or, rather, Rihannsu ;) words, some of which will appear in this series. There are a few online versions of the glossary, however, such as this one, though I take no responsibility for the green-on-white colour scheme -_-
> 
> The most important term/concept I'm using is mnhei-sahe, which I'll define here:  
> Mnhei'sahe  
> The Ruling Passion (The concept, or concept complex, that rules most of Rihannsu life in terms of Honor. Mnhei'sahe is primarily occupied with courtesy to the people around one: this courtesy, depending on circumstances, may require killing a person to do him honor, or severely disadvantaging oneself on his behalf. There are many ramifications too involved to go into, but generall Mnhei'sahe is satisfied if all the parties to an agreement feel that their "face" or honor is intact after a (social) or other transaction. NB: The concept has occasionally been mistranslated as implying that a given action is done "for another person's good." This is incorrect; such a concept literally does not exist in Rihannsu culture. One does things for one's own good -- or rather, the good of one's honor, and if properly carried out, the actions in question will have benefitted the other parties in the transaction as well.)
> 
> All the Romulan words are attribuable to Diane Duane.
> 
> There is a longer cast listing at the work's home on[LJ](http://measured-words.livejournal.com/51864.html) or [DW](http://measured-words.dreamwidth.org/50489.html)


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